


Countdown

by QueenPersephoneofHades



Category: Big Hero 6 (2014)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-01
Updated: 2014-11-06
Packaged: 2018-02-23 12:51:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 3,715
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2548139
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueenPersephoneofHades/pseuds/QueenPersephoneofHades
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Big Hero 6 Countdown Week from Tumblr. These are my one-shots for each character.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Laser Lights

**Author's Note:**

> I am obsessed with this movie and it isn't even out yet. So enjoy my mediocre one-shots for the next week until the movie comes out. :D

He’s nine years old when he’s finally able to see the original Star Wars movies.  
They’re old – a lot older than he’d expected when so many people he knew gushed about them constantly – but he asks his mom if they can watch it anyway, because every other kid in his class is absolutely obsessed with getting a lightsaber – whatever that is – or becoming a Stormtrooper.  
So, he watches the movies, despite it taking a lot more time out of his usual schedule than he would prefer, and is immediately hooked; those kids were right about the lightsabers. Small, portable lasers you could use to slice stuff up.  
Heck to the yes.  
He wanted one.  
Of course, when he expressed this need to his parents, mom had rolled her eyes good-naturedly and dad smiled at him and pulled out the keys to the car, stating he deserved a reward for his streak of good grades lately – all A’s. Mom was really happy about that, so she agreed and off they went.  
He spent the twenty minute ride to the store practically vibrating in his seat, unable to contain his excitement.  
Turns out, once at the store – with its loads of screaming children and decidedly unordered toy aisles; he hated coming here, even when it was for something he really wanted – he was to be greatly disappointed by the cheap plastic replicas hanging on the wall.  
“I don’t want one of those,” he stresses, almost certain his father is playing a trick on him. “I want a real lightsaber!”  
His father laughed. The audacity.  
“Son,” he sighs, leaning down and patting him on the shoulder, “Lightsabers aren’t real. Those were just special effects made to look like lasers in the movie.”  
“But Mr. Takahiko says lasers are real! So why aren’t lightsabers?” he protests immediately, feeling a bit triumphant.  
His father pursed his lips. “Lasers do exist,” he admitted, continuing before his son could interject, “But scientists haven’t quite figured out how to make them work like a lightsaber.”  
“Then I’ll figure it out!” he exclaims, pointing at his parent’s nose with just a hint of neurotic mania. “Mr. Takahiko says I’m smart! I’ll figure out how to make lightsabers work!”  
His father smiles; it isn’t until he’s much older that he recognizes the disbelief hiding in his eyes.  
But he’s going to make that childish dream a reality; even if it does take a while.


	2. Chemical Reaction

She’s fourteen when she figures out what exactly she wants to do with her life.  
She has always been different compared to the other kids of her class – twenty-three young teenage kids, arrogantly believing they can take on the world already, with your typical school-yard jocks and popular girls, with one or two nerds thrown in there as well – while she would fall into the ‘popular’ category when it came to her looks, her desire to learn and create had inadvertently sent any girl who would have befriended her as far away as possible.  
It doesn’t bother her (much) that she sits alone at the lunch table every day through middle school, taking a selfie or two and cheerfully stuffing her face with her mom’s homemade egg-salad sandwich, even idly cruising through homework on the side, choosing to remain oblivious to the stinging comments other girls seem to love tossing her way.  
She remains upbeat, soldiering on past the negative looks and constant rejections with a smile, completely confident that she would find her own place in this vast, insane world known as ‘school’.  
It’s on the first day of her freshman year that she finds that place.  
Their first period is history, which isn’t terribly exciting, but she examines their course work outline with a trained eye anyway.  
Second period is chemistry, which she’s never had before; she knows it’s got stuff to do with chemicals and laboratories and mixing stuff together (sort of like alchemy), but she’s never done it herself.  
The minute she walks into the lab, smelling of disinfectant and covered in various, dangerous looking supplies (to a fourteen-year-old, at least), she’s immediately intrigued.  
It takes a few weeks for them to get into the real interesting stuff – learning and reciting the periodic table is a cinch for her – but once they start to work for real…  
It’s her best class, and by far her favorite.  
She rises to the top, quickly overtaking a few of the older students in the grade-department.  
And she isn’t ignored or ridiculed.  
While more than a few seniors stare at her incredulously or jealously when they see her in the library, several kids from among her class – and a few upperclassmen as well – come to her with questions about the class on more than one occasion, which she more than happily answers with little prompting.  
She gets so good at it, in fact, that she comes home one day from school and gushes to her mother, “I want to do it for a living! Be a chemist, solve the mysteries of the elements!” She’d punctuated the statement with an excited twirl, blonde hair swishing dramatically as she stopped.  
“That sounds great, sweetie!” her mother had assured her, but her experiences in school told her more than enough to know her mother’s heart wasn’t really enthusiastic about the idea.  
“What’s the matter?” she asks, confused.  
Her mother her fidgeted, obviously uncomfortable. “Well, Honey, women don’t usually become scientists. Especially when they look like you,” she muttered the last part under her breath, sounding exasperated at the thought of people not getting a job because of their looks, which her daughter whole-heartedly agreed with.  
It doesn’t matter, she decides the next day as she carefully mixes hydrogen peroxide with sodium iodide to create a great plume of yellow substance as the experiment notes instructed.  
She thinks this is the most fun she’s had in years, and she wouldn’t be giving it up just to please whomever is was that decided who became a chemist and who didn’t.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's really hard to write for a character you know next to nothing about.  
> See you all tomorrow!


	3. Speed Racer

She’s seven and staring dubiously as her father brings the thin metal frame out of the garage, supported by two thin, spindly-looking wheels and two mini-attachments branching off the sides. “Ta-da! Happy Birthday, Gogo!” he exclaims excitedly, gesturing to the bike dramatically with both arms spread.  
She pops her gum without a word, unsure what to say. She hadn’t wanted anything in particular this year, but a bike hadn’t even crossed her mind on the list of possibilities. “Is this yours?” she asked slowly, observing the lowered seat and improvised purple paint job overtop a dulled yellow.  
Her father blinked, nonplussed by his daughter’s usual quiet demeanor. “It was your mom’s, actually,” he admitted with a sigh, giving the handlebar a fond pat.  
She blinked, her gum popping again, though this time unintentionally. He never talked about mom. This was a bigger deal than she expected.  
So, despite her initial disinterest, she asked, “Where’s my helmet?”  
Ten minutes later she has her helmet on and the training wheel removed – she knew how to ride already – and off she goes, her father watching with a small smile.  
It’s not so bad, she decides – the pedals work well and gears don’t squeak obnoxiously like she’d half-expected, which is great – until she gets a bit too close to the edge of the slope.  
San Fransokyo is rather infamous for its high hills and impossible parking spaces – most residents knew not to go near the drops unless they wanted to go down very fast or up very slow – but it was hard to avoid when gravity dictates that what goes up must come down; especially if it’s on wheels.  
She can hear her father calling her name, but it’s too late; she’s already going down.  
The bike picks up speed immediately, wheels spinning madly as wind began to rush past her, ruffling the bit of her hair that wasn’t covered by helmet and whipping her face lightly.  
Her heart jolts a little inside her chest – she’s never gone this fast before – and she’s still gaining speed, the downward slope giving her plenty of momentum to send her careening to the bottom-  
Except there’s a problem, because at the bottom of the hill the sidewalk disappears around a corner and ahead is a street full of cars driving past.  
Her eyes widen – this is kind of awesome, but adrenaline isn’t able to block the natural instinct of “look out we’re going to DIE!” currently screaming at her – so she reaches her fingers forward to grip the trigger on the top of the handlebar, grasping the one that would slow her down first instead of simply stopping, which would result in a face-plant of epic proportions.  
She slows considerably, and is able to stop safely just on the edge of the curb, right on the brink of entering the street. Several people who had been walking past stop and stare at her in befuddlement, unaware of her nearly shooting straight into the middle of Saturday traffic.  
“Gogo!” cries an alarmed voice as she’s climbing off the bicycle, and suddenly her dad’s arms are wrapped around her, dragging her away from the curb and farther from danger.  
Her heart is still racing – she knows she should be apologizing for scaring her dad – but the only thing she can think to say at the moment is:  
“Can we do that again?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gogo is an adrenaline junkie. I love her. Hope you enjoyed!


	4. Dinosaur Men

He’s six, and is giggling triumphantly over a pile of comics and magazines he’d scrounged from his cousin Danny’s room. Danny was older than him by nine years, and had forbid the much younger boy from going in his room and touching his stuff; so in retaliation he’d snuck in while Danny was off with that redhead chick he always talked about and stole the collection away to his own corner of the massive living room.  
Now, he stood in front of the hefty (for a six-year-old) pile, staring at his bounty. He didn’t know much about the magazines with ladies on them – Danny was always sure to hide those whenever he walked in, but he’d dug them out from under the teen’s bed – but he was more interested with the far more colorful comic books he’d found under there as well.  
They were old – at least by a few years, though his young brain didn’t process that bit – and some of the pages were ripped or even missing completely, but they had pictures of dinosaur men on the front. Who didn’t love dinosaur men?  
So he rummaged through the pile for all the colorful comics and plopped down beside the pile, flipping the top one open and gasping at the fierce monster that appeared in front of him.  
“Awesome!” he exclaimed to himself, happily inspecting the pictures whilst ignoring the text inside almost entirely.  
He didn’t know how long he spent like that, gazing at the amazing dinosaur men and gorilla people, but when his mother came in some time later only to shriek in horror at the reading material he was in possession of (her eyes had zeroed in on the porn, not the comic books), he gleefully held up the issue in his hand and squealed,  
“Mom! I didn’t know people could do this! It’s so cool how much bodies can change~!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ... I'm sorry. I'm a terrible human being. :3


	5. Automated Genius

-Systems Activated-  
His visual sensors lit as the rest of his systems awoke, coming alive under the careful hand of his creator.  
“Hello. I am Baymax, your personal Healthcare companion,” he stated automatically, lowering his optic sensors to take in his surroundings.  
The lab, of course; it had been his place of residence since before his first processors were created. In front of him was just as he’d expected; Tadashi Hamada, inventor and brilliant young man who had brought Baymax into the world, wearing a wrinkled t-shirt and his favorite baseball cap.  
Tadashi grinned crookedly as Baymax blinked at him, tilting his small, rounded head, silently inspecting the dark circles and five-o’clock shadow his creator was sporting across his chin.  
“Tadashi. You seem exhausted,” the robot pointed out as the human leaned back looking very satisfied indeed – he’d been trying to modify the robot’s activation and inflation speed for some time; it was finally working at full capacity without glitching halfway through and resulting in a popped arm or leg.  
“Hmm? What makes you say that?” the young man asked absent-mindedly, spinning away from his creation to read the results of the tests on the monitors, seemingly oblivious to his sluggish state even as he moved at least 30% slower than he normally did.  
Baymax couldn’t deadpan sarcastically like a living human, but he got pretty close by stating, “Your eyes have dark rings under them, suggesting several nights without sleep, at least. You ensure that you are clean shaven whenever you leave your house unless you are preoccupied with a project. And you have worn the same clothing for three visits straight; that is the equivalent of three days. Most humans would not consider that healthy.”  
Tadashi paused in his distracted movements, tipping his head to one side in contemplation. “Oh. Wow. Maybe I am tired; I didn’t even notice,” he muttered, lifting a hand to rub at his eyes fitfully.  
“What seems to be the trouble, Tadashi?” Baymax asked, walking forward methodically, one cybernetic foot in front of the other, voice oozing artificial concern.  
The human didn’t even turn to face the giant walking marshmallow, simply waving one hand nonchalantly. “It’s nothing, Baymax, everything’s fine; I’ve just been having trouble sleeping for a few nights,” he admitted.  
He was adjusting a few notes on the holographic board, lost in his own world. The lab was silent for several long moments.  
Baymax blinked. He couldn’t feel awkward silences, but his programming pushed him to ask, “Is something wrong with Hiro?”  
Tadashi froze again, this time far more abruptly. He spun to face his creation, eyes wide but most definitely not worried, thank you very much.  
“What makes you think that, Baymax? Is that GPS I gave him heading somewhere?” he asked quickly, already moving toward the door as if to chase after his errant sibling once again like he usually did.  
The robot stared at him. “No. It is just that, whenever you are here working on me, you are usually talking about Hiro. But you haven’t said a word about him today.” The squishy android stated plainly, unfazed by his creator’s concern.  
Tadashi seemed to deflate suddenly at that, sighing heavily in both relief and fatigue.  
His creation watched as he removed his baseball cap – a rare occurrence indeed – and ran a hand through unwashed hair, looking much smaller than usual. Baymax tried adjusting his sensors, a tad ‘confused’ – his creator was six foot one, he was not small – but Tadashi’s voice interrupted the process.  
“I’ve been worried about Hiro lately. I thought working on you would take my mind off him, but…” he broke off, gesturing helplessly to his soft creation. “It’s no surprise you can tell something is off. Everyone has noticed; Gogo, Wasabi, Honey, even Fred. It’s kinda ridiculous.”  
“Worried about what? Is Hiro in some kind of trouble?” Baymax asked, feeling something rising in his circuitry. He had never met the younger sibling of his creator, but from what Tadashi had told him, he could gather that the boy was special indeed, in both that he was incredibly smart and a very important loved one to the young man.  
Tadashi groaned, rubbing a hand across his face tiredly. Baymax quickly lifted both hands and began rubbing his creator’s shoulders in an attempt to wake him up and remove the obviously visible stress from his body.  
“Hiro’s been heading out to more of those bot-fights lately,” Tadashi admitted, voice quieter than normal.  
“The illegal robot fighting rings?” Baymax questioned, although he already knew; the history of those infamous fights was stored into his memory banks. He was unlikely to ever forget them.  
Tadashi nodded in confirmation anyway, likely too tired to notice anyway. “It’s starting to really freak me out. I can’t catch up to him every time; he’s nearly gotten arrested at least twice now, and Aunt Cass really doesn’t need that on her plate right now,” he said, fists slowly clenching.  
Baymax observed the reaction calmly. “It does not seem to be Aunt Cass who ‘does not need such a thing on their plate’; it sounds like you ‘do not need such a thing on your plate.’ Have you tried to make him stop?” he queried.  
“Every damn day,” Tadashi muttered, crossing his arms and allowing his creation to continue the massage without complaint.  
“And he does not listen to you?”  
“Never really does, but he definitely won’t listen about this. It’s more than a little infuriating.”  
“Have you tried reprogramming him? Perhaps he is not operating at full capacity.”  
He cracked a grin at that. “I’m not sure I’m qualified to reprogram a human, Baymax. But you’re right; he isn’t operating at full capacity. He could do so much more with his gifts than just winning fights and ripping apart some wannabe’s best designs.”  
“Have you told him that?” Baymax asked, a bit floored by the absolute belief in Tadashi’s words.  
“Only about a dozen times since I started going to the university,” the human yawned, stretching and leaning back a little more into the relaxing sensation of Baymax’s fingers rubbing the knots out of his back.  
Baymax was silent for a while, pondering, searching through his programming for some kind of answer he could give his creator for the dilemma.  
“Perhaps he could go here.”  
“What?” that woke Tadashi up, making him straighten up in surprise.  
“Hiro. You told me once that going to university is what allowed you to create me. Perhaps if he went here, Hiro could reach his full potential and operate at full capacity,” Baymax stated clearly.  
Tadashi spun around, throwing both arms around the squishy marshmallow-material his creation was covered in. “Baymax, you’re a genius! Why didn’t I think of that?!” he cried, looking absolutely overjoyed.  
“I am merely a product of your genius, Tadashi; you would have thought of such a thing yourself if you had some sleep and were operating at full capacity,” Baymax responded, slightly chiding.  
The young man laughed loudly, drawing back from the large marshmallow and grinning at him widely. “Thanks, Baymax. You can go ahead and power down; I need to go have a conversation with my brother.”  
The human turned around and marched determinedly toward the door to his lab.  
The robot left behind slowly began to deflate and fold up back into his tiny form, ‘wishing’ his creator luck on his mission.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Baymax is flipping adorable. And Tadashi is a precious baby who must be protected. I love them. :3


	6. Child Prodigy

Tadashi hummed, frustrated, as he glared at the slip of paper in front of him.  
He knew it was unlikely he’d ever be able to figure the formula out completely – if the greatest minds in the world couldn’t do it, there was no way he could do it – but he thought maybe he could get through a layer, perhaps even two.  
No such luck.  
He narrowed his eyes, as if limiting his vision would aid him in discerning the meaning behind the numbers in front of him. So focused was he on the problem that he didn’t hear the pair of tiny feet pattering up beside him until suddenly a small mop of black hair popped up at his elbow, making him jump.  
“What’cha doin, nii-san?” Tadashi’s younger brother, Hiro questioned curiously, staring at the paper with wide brown eyes that matched his elder siblings’ exactly.  
Tadashi blinked, a smile tugging at his lips – it was hard to be frustrated at anything when Hiro was in the room – and returned his eyes to the formula with a sigh. “I saw this paper on Mr. Shihoin’s desk and asked him about it. He said it was a very complicated formula that the best mathematicians in the world couldn’t solve, so I offered to help him with it.” His face morphed into a frustrated pout as he muttered, “He laughed and said he could handle it, but I insisted and he gave me a copy. But this doesn’t make any sense! It’s ridiculous!”  
He threw his hands into the air in defeat, much to his younger brothers’ apparent amusement as he snickered quietly, doing a poor job of turning it into a cough when Tadashi glared at him.  
Tadashi sighed again, pushing his chair away from the table with a defeated slump in his shoulders. “Whatever. I’ll figure it out after a snack. Do you want anything, Hiro?” he asked, noticing his brother’s eyes trailing slowly over the paper with a tiny spark coming to light in them.  
“Could you make some onigiri?” Hiro asked, allowing his eyes to trail up to Tadashi’s face, puppy dog eyes already in place.  
Tadashi raised an eyebrow dubiously at his sibling. “Onigiri takes a while, you know. You sure you can wait that long?” he asked, ignoring the way Hiro smirked at getting his way so easily.  
“Aunt Cass was preparing some rice for something earlier. There might be some left,” the younger said, quite calmly taking his older brother’s seat and scooting up to the table.  
Tadashi rolled his eyes. “Fine. But only because I finished my homework already!” he protested, knowing full well he’d just been suckered into making snacks with almost no effort at all on Hiro’s part. It was infuriating, but he couldn’t bring himself to be too mad.  
“Don’t doodle on that!” he called over his shoulder, pointing a warning finger at Hiro as he walked toward the kitchen, “It’s very important!”  
“Yeah, yeah!” Hiro groaned, waving a dismissive hand at him.  
Tadashi wouldn’t return to the table for another three hours – after making the onigiri, Hiro had happily asked if they could play videogames, which he agreed to with little hesitation – but when he did find his way back just before dinner to find the entire sheet of paper full of mathematical equations and figures scrawled all across it and a tiny sequence of numbers quite proudly circled in crayon displaying the answer to the equation that had baffled men far older than Tadashi and Hiro combined, he couldn’t say he was exactly surprised.  
After all, he always knew his brother was special.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aren't my sons just adorable? Can't wait for tomorrow! XD  
> Hope you guys enjoyed!

**Author's Note:**

> We don't know much about Wasabi and the others, so I apologize in advance for any inaccuracies this has. Hope you enjoyed, and I'll see you all tomorrow!


End file.
